


with urgency, but not with haste (soundtrack + art)

by feathertofly



Series: patient love [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fan Soundtracks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-14
Updated: 2013-09-14
Packaged: 2017-12-26 14:05:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/966810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feathertofly/pseuds/feathertofly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>accompanying mix for my story with urgency, but not with haste. i'm a firm believer that a song can tell a story just as well as anything else, and it didn't feel right to post the story without the music that made it what it is. fair warning, there's lots of spoilers for the fic in this post, so definitely read that first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	with urgency, but not with haste (soundtrack + art)

 

 

[download mix here](http://www.sendspace.com/file/nq6vpe)

sail, awolnation. _by the time louis rolls up to standing the music has melted seamlessly into awolnation’s sail. he positions himself in an arabesque and lets his mind fall blissfully blank of everything other than his movements. six, seven, eight, arms up, drop down, extend the leg, shift weight, four, five, six..._

where have you been, rihanna. _"stay and watch us, pretty please?" jade is the one that says it, but before long four sets of bright eyes are set on him pleadingly. louis rolls his eyes but moves to sit against the wall as jesy claps and perrie moves to plug her own iPod into the speaker system. the girls go through a quick warm up of their own, higher energy than louis's had been. it all looks a bit nonsensical to at first, the repeated jumps and steps and arm swoops, but as soon as the music starts and rihanna's voice pours through the speakers, the odd movements flow together perfectly._

pompeii, bastille. _it's nearly ten by the time he stumbles into the cafe, but that doesn't mean he isn't wincing and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. in a perfect world - or just a world where he hadn't stayed at the studio so long last night, meaning he'd gotten to bed earlier, meaning he had woken up on time - he'd love nothing more than to slip into the far booth and wrap his hands around the tea harry would have already made for him. but it's not a perfect world, and finals are just around the corner, so instead he makes his way around the crowded tables, weaving his way to grab his apron from where it's hanging on a hook behind the counter. "took you long enough," harry hollers over the overhead music. bastille's newest, he's pretty sure. "i beg your very pardon, i'm a good five minutes early for my shift. just because you pissed liam off and he scheduled you for death o'clock in the morning." harry laughs, and pokes his head through the door. "order up, darling."_

chokehold, aiden grimshaw. _"this a new one?" and, right, harry. harry would notice that it's new, because harry comes to every gig aiden invites him to. harry hasn't heard aiden sing about cupid, and how he tries to run but can't escape the chokehold. harry hasn't heard it because no one's heard it. no one's heard it because aiden just wrote it, just wrote it for louis. right. "yeah," louis breathes. "it's for me." aiden is really into it now, eyes closed as he strums and it sounds like louis, is the thing. more energetic than anything aiden usually does, bouncing and the tiniest bit silly and sad but mostly just fun and the crowd is eating it up, clapping along and hollering and everyone seems to be smiling except harry._

hazy, rosi golan. _matches. candles. and is that italian? their table is set for two, their spiderman and batman plates next to wine glasses they'd picked up from a charity shop, and where did that tablecloth even come from? harry's iPod is plugged in and playing something soft and delicate. this is bad. this is so, so very bad._

runaway, kanye west. _“yes ma’am.” and what wouldn’t louis give for harry to hear what’s about to come out of his mouth next. “kanye west made an interesting choice in utilizing a strong classical piano and cello sound in his instrumental track, layering it with a sharp rhythm drum and his own vocals. it’s this meshing of sounds that makes the song work, and it strongly complements the tone of the lyrics - namely that he sees the flaws in his approach to love and sex and romance, and feels guilt over it, but refuses to change his ways. instead he is forthright about it, stating - and i quote - now pick your best move, you can love it or leave wit it.”_

i’m yours, the script. _"remember that concert? best show of my life, it was." harry scoffs a bit, but louis can hear the smile in it. "we weren't even there together, louis, i wouldn't know if it was the best." louis hops up on the counter, crossing his legs and reaching for a carton of chinese before responding. it's as comforting as a bedtime story for the two of them by now, the words sound as comfortable in louis's mouth as worn down pages in a child's book. "but you were there, seat thirty four in section b, and i was in forty two b. you were walking back to your seat and happened past me, and i asked you to take a picture of me. you asked what was in it for you, all the cheek of a fifteen year old, and i said -" "- you said you'd repay me with a friendship bracelet, because that's what concerts were for, making friends. i remember. i was there, lou.”_

whiskey, whiskey, whiskey, john mayer. _there’s music gently playing in the kitchen, and when louis wanders in he finds harry at the sink, washing the dishes and quietly singing along to what’s playing on his ipod. “john mayer, right?” louis is sure he’d recognize the guitar style anywhere, even if he doesn’t know the song. “yeah, his latest. pretty solid album, haven’t had a chance to listen to it too closely yet, but...” he swallows, the rest of the sentence lost in the strum of the guitar and the scratch of the wire scrubber against the bowl he’s holding. louis takes his hand gently and forces him to release it. “they’ll keep, haz. we’ll have time to deal with it in the morning. bed now, please?”_

poison oak, bright eyes. _“you’re the yellow bird i’ve been waiting for,” he whispers back. louis can’t hold back his smile. of course, of course harry would declare his love through bright eyes lyrics. it somehow means more and less than any of the things they’ve yelled at each other. louis tries to stay awake for as long as he can, memorize the feeling of harry’s skin against his, but eventually sleep takes over._

hughes, the new amsterdams. _eventually louis pulls out his ipod and small set of speakers - a going away gift from niall - and puts it on shuffle. maybe once he gets some white noise he'll be able to calm down. after all, new york doesn't sound so terribly different from london. same cars rushing by, same footsteps of people on their way to their homes at the end of the day, or leaving their homes to get lost in the vastness that only a city with millions of people could provide. it's nearly all the same, louis thinks as he curls into a ball in the middle of the bed. a bit warmer, a bit more dry, only his own heartbeat and the tinny sounds of the new amsterdams blaring through the speakers to lull him off to sleep. he knows he must have a bad case of jet lag, but it still takes far longer to drift off than he's like. he doesn’t call harry._

bittersweet symphony, the verve. _"this is easily my favorite part of the whole experience," he says, walks over to the light switch panel on the wall. his ipod is plugged into the wall and the perfect song pulled up and ready. he turns off all the overhead lights and flips on the floor lights so the students on the stage are cast in dark shadows. they look a little unsure, but louis just grins. he grabs the remote controlling the stereo then jogs up on stage with the rest of them. it's been easy to forget, when he's facing them and critiquing their movements, that they're only a couple of years younger than he is. he feels it keenly now though, slipping in the middle of the group. they still look uncertain, until he presses play and the sound of strings fills the auditorium. louis closes his eyes and lets himself start to move. small at first, uncomplicated steps that a few of the students try to follow. he smiles encouragingly at them, then breaks out into more complicated moves, things they hadn't learned. a few of them seem to get it at that, and break from the mold. he sees one girl who had mentioned taking ballet as a little girl rise up into releve and spin around in tight circles. a boy who louis hadn't spent much one on one time with broke out in some of the best krumping he'd ever seen. one after another each student closed their eyes and gave into the flow of the music. a few started singing along. louis didn't stop his own movement, but slowed a bit so he could watch. most were clearly using moves he'd taught them, but no two dancers were moving alike. this is it, he thinks. pure, unadulterated creation. movement and discipline and technique all rolled into one beautiful expression of emotion._

sofa, ed sheeran. _“hiya, everybody,” and louis sits up tall at that. after nearly six months in new york he can feel his accent slipping a bit, but hearing this guy’s strong london slur makes him feel like things are clicking back into place. “my name’s ed, and, uh, thanks for coming round on a holiday. hope it’ll be worth your time. let’s just get right into it, this is called sofa.” and he’s good, is the thing. he knows his way around a guitar and his voice is incredible. he’s not too chatty in between songs, does a great bob dylan cover, and his lyrics are quick and clever and honest. by the end of the set louis is obsessed. he’s already at the bottom of the stage as ed makes his way down. “it’s my birthday,” he opens with, “and you have to let me buy you a drink.” ed’s eyes light up. “cheers, mate. always nice to see a friendly face.”_

daughters of the soho riot, the national. _here's the thing. louis sees harry all the time. When he first got to new york, louis saw him in every crowd, catching a whiff of his cologne or seeing someone wearing one of his old sweaters. it would push him gently out of his mind, leave his skin feeling too tight for hours. it still happens occasionally, he's just learned to deal with it. lots of people have curly hair. lots of people wear old rolling stones concert shirts. but this... no one else would be stupid enough to drive a convertible with the top down in the middle of new york city. especially not someone with a head of dark curly hair and louis can just make out the strains of the national blaring from the stereo._

dead in the water, ellie goulding. _"so what happened?" and what do you say to that? it's been over a year but the bruise that covers every inch of louis's skin is still so tender. still, after all this time. "i'm here, i guess," he says slowly, "i'm here and i'm happy. i'm living my life and he's living his and there's, like, a phantom limb pain that shows up sometimes, but the rest of me is here." ellie doesn't reply, just purses her lips together and nods. louis suddenly feels so, so tired and raw inside. like just talking is more effort than he can put forward. he puts his mug of tea gone cold on the coffee table and stumbles back to his room, taking deep breaths until his hands stop shaking. when he wakes up the next morning and remembers what an idiot he made of himself, he's a bit worried. he nearly corners ellie and tries to explain things, but she doesn't mention a thing. when he opens his mouth to say something she just smiles at him and points to her notebook. even from across the room louis can see that the page is full of frantic, slanted words. she quirks an eyebrow and offers it to him for inspection, but it's the last thing louis can handle in that moment._

bird of the summer, a fine frenzy. _"not to be contrary," louis says, fully aware that he's shoving his foot in his mouth; a ridiculously pretty boy just offered to buy him a drink and he's asking questions? clearly eleanor wasn't wrong when she said his dry spell has gone on way too long. "but this isn't exactly like any interview i've ever done before. you haven't even asked to see my pout yet." alexi laughs and, yep, clocking in at exactly three minutes since first laying eyes on the guy and louis is completely smitten. "i'm sure it's very nice, but i don't really care?" he shrugs on his jacket and closes the door behind him, then turns to give louis a quick look up and down. "i'm a painter, i knew within five seconds of seeing you that you're aesthetically pleasing. that's not what i'm looking for. i want to know if you've got, you know, spark. something worth documenting. and," he leans close, lips quirked and whispering like it's a secret, "i have a good feeling about you, louis tomlinson."_  

new york, snow patrol. _“harry being there doesn’t actually make it smaller, lottie.” “it kind of does, though.” and the thing is, louis can’t argue with that. he remembers that feeling himself, the feeling that if harry was someplace no matter how dark and scary, it was just an adventure. and somehow, it's comforting. he knows without a doubt that no matter what has happened between him and harry, harry loves lottie like his own sister. he's going to take care of her as well as louis would himself. even after all this time, he trusts harry implicitly._

sometime around midnight, the airborne toxic event. _he's nearly there when he sees him. louis is smiling at someone who bumped into him, a tight smile and 'it's fine' wave when he feels the hairs on the back of his neck raise. he looks up at the balcony overlooking the floor and green eyes lock on blue. he's so far away, louis can't make out the expression on his face, but without a doubt it's harry. louis’ heart jumps in his throat. he can feel his blood pounding in his ears and the bass from the speakers is overwhelming and he can’t make himself move, it’s like he’s frozen in time just looking up at harry. with the flashing lights spinning madly through the club, every few seconds harry’s face is lit up blindingly. his mouth is dropped open, eyes wide and disbelieving. he’s gripping the railing so tightly that the muscles in his arms stand out. he looks so confused and adorable that louis laughs, and that seems to break the spell a bit. harry’s face lights up and he spins away from the balcony. louis stays put, but can see him sprinting across the floor, waving at someone who yells his name, then rushing down the spiral staircase so fast he nearly trips once or twice - louis has every intention of holding that against him in the future - and pushing his way through the crowd until, finally, he’s standing a few feet away from louis._

burn for you, john farmham. _sitting across from harry, watching his face light up as he describes the office where he works, finding superhero plasters for the little kids and comforting the worried parents, wearing scrubs with cats that nick bought him and getting teased by his coworkers... it's sort of everything louis has ever wanted. he can’t help thinking of that documentary about flowers, and how sunflowers turn to face the sun, and yeah. if the sun makes them feel anything like harry makes him feel, he would turn like they do too. he does his best to not push, letting harry leave without much protest when he says it's time. it must be good because harry asks for his phone and types in his number, with an invitation to drinks later in the week. things fall into an uneasy peace that night, with louis only grinding his teeth a little when nick and harry dance to the live band and nick has his hands all over harry's waist, harry's hips, running through harry's hair. he laughs when he's supposed to and doesn't drink too much and when he gets home that night, he refuses to cry in the shower. this isn't a break up, he's not losing anything._

red string, former ghosts. _louis tucks his own hands up under his chin and against the birds on harry's chest. it's dark, but this close he can see the light white ink script linking the two. "what does it say?" harry swallows hard, and when he does speak, it sounds like the words are costing him a great deal. "if i can only see you in dreams, then i'll stay in bed all day." "former ghosts," louis says faintly. he should've known. he'd got a red string permanently around his ankle after hearing the very same song. he'll show it to harry in the morning, he decides._

i will wait, mumford & sons. _louis hasn't ever been able to see the whole picture, but when it comes down to it, he doesn't need to. whether last night was a mistake in harry's eyes or not, it doesn't matter. as much as he's sure of anything in this life, louis thinks with a grin as his favorite mumford and sons song comes on over the speakers, his fate is entwined with harry's. and yeah, he should've waited. it was wrong, and unkind to not wait until harry had sorted things with nick. but sometimes fate steps in and takes over. things happen for a reason, ed sheeran had told him once. louis can be bold, as well as strong. he can use his head alongside his heart. he can make things right, can be strong for harry._

10 am, gare du nord, keaton henson. _the world stops spinning. louis can't breathe properly, his heart in his throat and his stomach dropping and he is going to be sick. everything has gone so unbelievably pear shaped, and nick is just standing there, spouting off every truth that louis never wanted to hear. he barely registers the ding of the bell over the door, other than a voice in the back of his head whispering that, oh, there's another stranger to witness his humiliation. louis knows the answer to this one, is the thing. when anyone else has said the same thing, he's had a ready answer about fate and true love and stupid fucking red strings. but for the first time, standing in front of the other half of harry's heart - and that’s true, he can't deny that, harry does love nick - he doubts. maybe he lost his chance. harry is happy and settled and safe, he has everything he needs. there really isn't much that louis could offer that nick can't; even their personalities are quite similar. nick is good and kind, loves harry to distraction, and harry would not be unhappy with him. but. "you're right," louis finally says. his hands clench and unclench, longing for a cigarette or a cuppa or a pen, anything to keep them steady, but he's empty handed. "you're right, i don't deserve him. if there's any justice in this world, he's going to end up with you and forget all about me. he should." nick seems to sag at that, all the wind gone out of his sails. he drops into a chair heavily and rubs his hands over his eyes. louis sits down across from him, equally drained. "but as long as he'll have me, i'll be here. even if he isn't mine, i'm his, nick. i just, i just am."_

for the first time, the script. _by the time he gets to the bar, harry is already seated at the bar. louis takes a moment to catch his breath and just take him in. harry looks exhausted, honestly. his cheek rests in the palm of one hand, his eyes look a bit red and puffy, and his hair's a mess. he's wearing the same shirt from the night before, a plaid button down done up only enough to barely cover his pecs with the sleeves ripped off. there's a small duffle bag next to him, presumably with his necessities, which means the talk with nick went a bit less well than they'd hoped. all in all, harry looks a mess. and louis has never seen anything more beautiful in his life. that is, until harry raises his head and sees louis. his shoulders sag with relief and the lips he had been gnawing on spread into a brilliant smile, and suddenly louis feels far too far away._

kiss me, ed sheeran. _“so this is kind of weird, but one of my best mates had a special request for the show tonight, and he has some incriminating pictures of me drunk and in various states of undress, so,” ed shrugs and the crowd laughs. louis is mesmerized by the way he controls the room in such an unassuming way; ed has a gift he’s never really seen before. “so this is a little ditty that i wrote when he told me about a situation he’s in, with a person who’s his best friend, and also something more. it’s about finding that courage that it takes to go after something you want, someone you love. and it’s, you know. not gender specific, innit.”_

everything, lifehouse. _“still can’t quite get over the fact that i get to do that with you,” he admits quietly, watching with wide eyes as louis plays with the fingers on his left hand. “i wanted it for so long, and it’s just a bit weird thinking that i’m not going to wake up one morning and have this all be a dream.” “i’m sure if you were going to dream me up you’d make me a little taller,” louis jokes, but he can’t pretend that he doesn’t understand what harry is saying. it’s the strangest thing, to finally get what it is you’ve been dreaming of. it’s not like everything is perfect; last week they’d not spoken for a full three days while trying to decide if they could afford a new toaster. there’s no magical transformation that takes place to make harry forget louis leaving, or make louis stop missing new york. but every day that louis stays when he could leave makes it all a little more real._

 

just be, paloma faith. _“i shouldn’t have snooped,” harry says, so quietly louis can barely hear it. but he doesn’t take it back, and he doesn’t drop the box. “_

_erm,” louis says weakly. because this, this could change things. sure they love each other, they’ve lived together and they’ve joked about being settled down little domestic husbands, but he hasn’t had a chance to prepare himself, mentally, for what he’ll say. what he’ll do if harry says no, or even if he says yes. when harry stays silent, louis tries again. “it doesn’t have to be, like, right this second or anything. it would probably be weird if we were, um, well before liam and danielle anyway. i just want you to know that i’m, like. i’m yours, hazza, forever and ever. no matter what, and i’m sorry if it’s too soon or something, i don’t mean to freak you out. i just want you, for however long you’ll have me.” after a long quiet moment, harry clears his throat and looks up at louis with shining eyes and the hint of a smile. “no take backs?” he croaks out. “wouldn’t dream of it,” louis insists, dropping to his knees and resting his chin on harry’s knee where it’s raised._


End file.
